“I am, ma’am,” Quint said.
“Good.” She proceeded to spout a set of rules that were duplicated in a packet she would give him.
Quint received a badge for meals and another badge to identify him as a recruit undergoing evaluations.
“Your identify badge will allow you to use the headquarters refectory,” the woman said. “Doctor Enzia will perform a physical examination before you can begin a proper evaluation.”
“Now, ma’am?”
She nodded. “Now.”
Quint didn’t appreciate the probing and prodding. Doctor Enzia used a metal hook to draw back his lips to reveal teeth and gums. He pressed uncomfortably hard to get a pulse reading. The woman dutifully recorded the doctor’s results.
The doctor put a little hammer he used to make Quint kick his legs. The training facility never had an examination so thorough.
“You are fit enough for service. Your youth displays a healthy body. You are fifteen, sixteen?”
“Sixteen,” Quint said.
“This time next year, you will be a bigger boy,” the doctor said with a grin.
“I’ve been told that at the training camp, doctor.”
“It’s true.” The doctor put his instruments in a black valise and left the room. “But that is generally true of sixteen-year-olds.”
The woman stayed. She marked another location on the map, the refectory, drawing a line from his room to where he would eat.
“Make sure you show up when the refectory is open, or you’ll miss a meal.” She gave Quint a professionally curt smile and left him.
If he hurried, he could make lunch. Quint didn’t see a key anywhere and used one of his newly acquired strings to freeze the lock on the door before he rushed out to the refectory on the main floor of the annex.
The refectory wasn’t much different from the eating area at the fort, except there were more choices for the food. Quint filled his metal tray and ate by himself. Two of his riding companions from the fort ignored him as he stood in line a few diners away. He mentally shrugged. Quint decided he wouldn’t let slights bother him at the headquarters any more than they had done at the fort.
After dinner, Quint returned to his room and locked the door. He went to the window and looked at the lights of Bocarre blinking on as night fell. He decided to turn in early since tomorrow might be draining on his magic.
The city lights were blacked out by three figures entering through the window. Quint struggled to stand but was dragged off his bed. He knew what was in store and curled up into a ball. If they had blades to kill him, he was a dead man. The assailants beat him senseless, and the same woman awakened Quint the previous day as she pounded on the door. He was able to stand and unlock the latch.
“You look like you had a rough night,” she said, unsurprised by Quint’s appearance.
“I fell out of my bed,” Quint said, glancing at the not-quite-closed window.
“I will wait down the hall while you clean yourself up, and then I will escort you to your first interview, which is generally a demonstration of your strings. Most recruits come to us with ten or a few more, which takes an hour. I suppose yours might be closer to three hours, so prepare yourself.
“Yes, ma’am,” Quint said. He visited the washroom and wiped the blood off his face; most of it was from a bloody nose. Less visible was the pain from bruises that had mainly blossomed from his beating. Quint returned feeling better, but not good.
They left the annex and stayed on the main floor, entering a conference room. Unlike the last test, tables lined one wall, filled with objects.
Three officers stood chatting as the pair walked in. Two wore black uniforms, and another wore a dark green uniform with the same cut.
“Recruit Tirolo is here for testing and evaluation. His medical examination and history are in the files,” the woman said before leaving the room.
“Sit down while we look at the files,” said the officer sitting in the middle of a row of three tables for the interviewers.
“How long were you training at Fort Draco?”
“About nine months, sir.”
“What was your magical training before entering the wizard corps?” the green-uniformed man asked.
“I had three days with the village hedge wizard, sir,” Quint said. “I started my training when I came into my magic.”
They scribbled something in their files.
“We might as well get started. Demonstrate the strings that you have learned.”
“All thirty-two, sir?”
“I have thirty-three listed,” the man in the center said.
“The shield weave. I can do that first,” Quint said.
“Do that, and we will test your shield.”
The inquisitors looked closely as Quint looked at his hands as he created tendrils. He put his hands into a ball and manipulated the threads into a string before pulsing the string with power. He felt the shield fall into place and stopped applying magic.
“It is done, sir.”
